When you get too much of the world on you that which is natural in you starts to struggle.

Space-time is an illusion. So is the notion of finite bodies. It's why, whenever I see you, I ask: 'How's your world?'......because I know we carry infinite worlds inside of us and in one of them, a great spinning star-flung song is trying to wake us up again to the Great Alliance that binds us.

Stop spinning on your busy wheel of pain long enough to hear this: You are not outside the fold of your original preciousness. Even the dawn-bird is heralding this truth each morning, singing to you a map-song with coordinates leading to your renewal.

And maybe, just maybe, you'll see yourself now through your childhood eyes and you'll stand forgiven and realize...the magic you had then never left you; you just forgot how to listen.

The soul is not a land-locked entity. It can grow feathers.

There is something bittersweet about letting go; about parting from anyone or anything that holds memory.But it is Spring. The weather is nice outside tonight. I put my writing utensils away for the rest of the season and take back up the old practices of the Forest-Sitting Religion.

Make the sunrise a temple.

There is a Great Story that binds us all together and it's not the one any of us grew up with.

Spring night in winter. The door open to night air. A family walks by. A child laughs with glee. Night-Sit. I ponder an old phrase of Ikkyu's: The buddhadharma is also the Way of Tea. A bolt of lightning splits my brain open and I pour down into my own heart.